


It is what it is

by Obsydian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hug Scene (Sherlock: The Lying Detective), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-04 06:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10270115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obsydian/pseuds/Obsydian
Summary: He was there. Sitting right in front of him. He knew John was there in that very moment, and he was speaking with him, but he could only think about the fact that, in a few moments, he would be alone again. Today. Alone with his ghosts, with his thoughts, with his… yes, with his fears. Because he had fears, after all.My version of what might have happened after the hug...





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sherlock and Johnlock fanfiction. I love this show so much that I couldn't help writing something about this amazing pairing!  
> A big hug to lovely [jemariel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemariel/pseuds/jemariel), who was my beta and had a lot of patience and was so nice to me!

He was there. Sitting right in front of him. He knew John was there in that very moment, and he was speaking with him, but he could only think about the fact that, in a few moments, he would be alone again. Today. Alone with his ghosts, with his thoughts, with his… yes, with his fears. Because he _had_ fears, after all.

“Oh, I do think I can last twenty minutes without supervision.” He tried to keep his mask on but his heart sank a little lower. He smiled, trying to be reassuring, wondering if John, of all people, would buy it. His pulse was quite elevated for a casual conversation. _What the fuck am I doing? Do I really want to let these… feelings to burn out what’s left of my mind?_

John seemed almost impatient to leave. He seemed different today, somehow, but there was still anger in his eyes. Anger and… questions? Guilt? It was difficult to distinguish any clue when this man was the subject. The only certainty (oh, certainty!) seemed to be the total mess of his emotions. He had never experienced anything like this in his whole life. He knew what it was, what this should be, of course he knew… but he was too afraid also to admit it, even to himself.

They kept chatting, knowing this conversation would lead to an inevitable and imminent end. Sherlock was feeling more and more tense, sadness undeniable in his eyes, in his voice, in his own gestures. He didn’t want John to leave but he knew he would and there was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do to prevent this from happening. Because Rosie was more important and he knew it. He loved her himself, and he would be so glad to… but it wasn’t the moment to linger in such thoughts.

Then, the text alert. Like a cold shower. John’s astonished expression was even more difficult to explain… what was he thinking in that very moment? He recognised the alert, obviously, and now he was standing there, looking at him so puzzled and questioning him… oh God, what the hell was he supposed to say? He didn’t want him to think there was anything between Irene and him, of course, it was the last thing he’d ever want! _Breathe, Sherlock, just breathe._ He took a sip of his tea indifferently and he tried to act like this text alert was the most normal, ordinary thing in the world.

And then… John just fell apart. It was like a dam broke inside of him, releasing the flood of his repressed emotions. That crazy rant about the cheating (cheating? What cheating, it was _texting,_ my God!) and about The Woman and then...  Sherlock saw John’s body tremble and starting to shake before him, while large tears started to spill from his eyes, his sobs echoing helplessly in the silent room. For an endless second he just couldn’t move, paralyzed. He couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe… How many nights had he spent thinking about some circumstances like this? The excuse to get physically close to John, just like so many other times, but this time he could be his saviour, his shoulder to cry, and he could… Oh, yes, but in his dreams it had been totally different! The pain he was reading now in his friend’s eyes was _real_ , and it was totally breaking his heart. And he didn’t anticipated any of this. At all. He just wanted to stand up and take him into his arms and… fuck, he just had to get up and go. Now!

He quietly put down the mug on the table beside him and slowly, gracefully stood up and approached the other man.

“It’s okay.”

Cautiously, tentatively, almost as if he was scared that his friend could react badly and push him away, he laid his left hand over the other’s right arm, rubbing it gently, while posing the right hand on his neck and pulling him against his chest, embracing him against his madly pounding heart. Would he hear it? Would he notice the acceleration in the beating of his heart, so evident to him but… what the hell, John was so desperate, sobbing hopeless into his arms and all he could think was _that_! Damn his heart, he would have rather remain the emotionless freak geek he was before this man broke into his life like a hurricane!

“It’s not okay.”

“No. But it is what it is.” Sherlock breathed deeply, then he softly lowered his cheek down onto the top of John’s head, still holding him firmly but sweetly in his arms.

He could smell his scent, so distinctive. He knew it so well from so many years of living side by side it was almost painful. Nevertheless this, maybe, was the first time they shared such an intimate moment like this. Sherlock was feeling John’s body shaking under his own fingers, he could feel it against his ribs, he could sense the tremble reverberating _inside_ of him. He could feel the heat of his body, the heat and the dampness of his tears against his shirt. Sherlock couldn’t tell how long they remained like this.

 

But what he couldn’t know was what John was experimenting, as well. That day… it had really been like a dam broke inside of the doctor. Like a hurricane erased all his certainties. Like… like he was on the verge of break apart and give in to his feelings. For good. What Mary said... _Get the hell on with it_. What she meant was with… Sherlock. And Mary was none other than his unconscious, he knew it too well, didn’t he? And when he was telling Sherlock to move on with The Woman, to text her, to do something, anything… he was hoping for him to do something and acting toward _him_ , not _her_ , wasn’t he?

He had lost all that he had. Everything, everyone. And now all he had left was his pain. Tears kept rolling off his cheeks, drenching his friend’s shirt. Feeling Sherlock’s hands on his neck, on his shoulder, smelling his cologne, hearing the sound of his heart beating fast, _so_ fast, was way too much. It was overwhelming. He couldn’t accept what he was feeling, he couldn’t. Though he couldn’t keep lying, to himself before all, pretending what he was feeling for Sherlock was a pure and simple friendship. It wasn’t simple, it never was, and oh no, it wasn’t definitely pure, not anymore! He dreamt about Sherlock so many times, and not in a way that a friend would do, at all. Like a friend _should_ do. He never felt anything like this for a man… but for Sherlock… since he saw him that first time, so many years ago… he felt something different, a different kind of attraction, something deeper, something shocking and uncontrollable.

He thought he felt attracted to his beautiful and unique mind, at first. Then he realized that well, no, it wasn’t a platonic attraction. No way. Anytime Sherlock was next to him he felt intoxicated by his smell, by shape of his lean and graceful body, by the sound of his deep, low voice, explaining those complicated conclusions in his typical quick-fire mode. But he knew Sherlock wasn’t into these kind of things; he knew he cared for him, and this embrace was the purest proof of his kind of love, but he just couldn’t… be the way other people were. He was one of his kind and John knew he wouldn’t ever, ever reciprocate anything more than a friendship. So he just let all his despair for Mary, for his cheating, for his feelings, for… everything just flow through his tears. He just couldn’t stop.

Until he realized something was wrong. Sherlock’s heartbeat. It was _fast_. Too fast. Why in the hell was it so fast? And… he was sweating, wasn’t he? He was stressed. Intrigued, he lifted his chin to look at him in the eye, looking for other clues. Sherlock moved his head and stared down at him, confused, wide eyed. He knew. Oh God, he knew.

They stared into each other’s eyes, blinking, a questioning look painted on their faces. Astonishment, hope, fear. They were each the mirror of the other. Then John, disentangling his arm from Sherlock's tight embrace, raised his hand, still wet with his tears. Almost trembling, never breaking the eye contact with Sherlock, he carefully posed his hand on the other’s cheek. Sherlock unconsciously slightly parted his lips in a mute request, his pupils dilated. He was holding his breath.

_Get the hell on with it_. He knew he would risk losing everything. Sherlock was his _everything_ , together with Rosie. But he also knew that, if he didn’t do it now, he would regret it for the rest of his life. _Get the hell on with it_. And so he did. He straightened out, lifted his chin up and, closing his eyes, he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s.

 

Sherlock was in shock. When he saw John moving his hand away from his chest he thought, for a moment, that he was going to reject him, to push him away. He felt like he was paralyzed, he didn’t dare to breathe, he just stand there, wide eyed, waiting for the John’s next inevitable move. But when he felt that hand posed, so gently, on his cheek, warm and wet with John’s tears, he felt like his heart would burst out in spontaneous combustion. He’d never thought he could ever be capable of feeling anything like this in his whole life.

Sociopath. He had always thought of himself as a sociopath. But a sociopath is not supposed to... _feel_. _What_ was he feeling now? Why was he feeling so confused, painful, happy and… _and oh my God_. John was kissing him. Was John _kissing_ him? But that was definitely the perception of the other’s lips on his own and… his eyes snapped open. He couldn’t even remember he closed them and… he was feeling so confused! He, the great Sherlock Holmes, of all men, was now standing there trembling and dazed like a little boy.

John moved back a little, looking at him directly in the eye, his hand still firmly posed on his cheek, the other gently resting on the small of his back, pressing Sherlock against his own body, almost reclaiming the need for his proximity. Silence. Just the faint sound of their breaths was filling the air, but it was like time itself had stopped.

“John?” That simple question resonated in the room like a thunder.

Was he the same man who just few hours ago was punching him and kicking him in such a blind and destructive rage? Was he the same man who, in the last few years, helped him solving so many cases, running breathless through the streets of London, giggling at the most inconvenient time and, sometimes, risking his own life for him?

“Sherlock… I… I know you’re not into this kind of thing, but… I… I’m sorry, I’ve lost everything else in my life. I didn’t know… I didn’t want to admit… but…”

For a moment Sherlock just stand there, breathing, trying to understand, to elaborate. Then, all of a sudden, he grabbed John’s face with both hands and he kissed him. Not the chaste, pure kiss stolen moments before. His head was spinning, his heart was beating impossibly fast, he was feeling almost scared. He had never felt anything like this, but he _wanted_ this, like he had never wanted anything in his whole life. He was craving to feel John, he wanted to explore his lips, his mouth, he wanted to feel his trembling tongue against his own and oh God, he was feeling it now and it was shocking and astonishing and terrifying at the same time.

Eventually, when he felt he couldn’t breathe anymore, when he felt John’s body starting tremble again against his own, he rested his forehead against John’s, running his fingers gently through his short silver hair.

“I had no idea, John. I had no idea you felt _this_ … and… I had no idea _I_ could feel _this_ , as well. I was… scared. I have never experienced anything like this. I have never felt anything at all.  You were scared too, I suppose. But… I don’t want to repress this. Not anymore. Not now that I know that you feel the same. Because you do, don’t you?”

John didn’t move a muscle. He was barely breathing. His whole world was shattering around him in millions of pieces and rising again in a new fire. He could feel Sherlock’s breath mingling with his own and his warmth and his feathery touch through his hair and... he couldn’t think. He just couldn’t. A ragged little breath, tears down his cheeks, a bright new light in his deep blue eyes.  Still pressing his forehead against the other man’s, shutting his eyes, he raised his hands up to entangle his fingers through the detective’s messy ebony curls.

“I… I can’t tell when all of this started. I just know that… since the first moment I saw you… I was fascinated. You weren’t like anybody else I ever met, you were unique. You _are_ unique. Your brilliant mind, your absurd behaviour and then… yes, I was too scared to admit it, even to myself. But I was attracted to you. Uh, physically, I mean. I guess you figured it out, didn’t you?” he sneakily opened up one eye, to find Sherlock doing the same, and they both burst out in a simple, spontaneous laugh that dispelled any residual tension between the two of them.

“And yes, sometimes I would like to punch you right in the face and I really think you are a drama queen, Sherlock Holmes, and I’m angry and I’m terrified, but…” he looked at him straight in the eye, smiling fondly “I can’t help feeling what I feel. I’m afraid to say it out loud, but… well, it is what it is.”

Sherlock, wide eyed, his lips parted, couldn’t look more beautiful to John’s eyes than in that very moment. He was totally disconcerted and, for one of the few times in his life, he really didn’t know what to say. He blinked a few times, then he nervously cleared his throat.

“You were right, you know? I wasn’t into… this kind of thing. I’ve never felt attracted to anyone before… you. Well, there were some “exceptions”, but they were more a question a mental attraction, kind of “power-game” and… but with you… it’s all so different, all so new to me and I don’t know what I am feeling. I just know that I want to be with you. I _need_ to be with you. I missed you, so much John. And I didn’t want you to leave today, and I would have done anything to have you with me one minute more but… I knew I had no right to ask you and… Oh God, not really my thing trying to express my feelings, I’m afraid. I didn’t even know I had, feelings! Or… sexual attraction? Is that what I am feeling, now?”

“Oh… well, if what I’m feeling against my hip is what I think it is… I guess…” a sassy and sweet, at the same time, smile flashed in John’s eyes, making them burst out laughing again, like all of their troubles could be forgotten for a while after all those months, after all those years.

“Sherlock… I am scared too. But… I think we have to live this just as it is. It’s just… _us_. I’m sure we’ll manage it, whatever this is. Whatever this will mean, for both of us.”

Gently he pressed once again his lips on Sherlock’s, chastely this time, capturing the bottom one just for the briefest moment for pulling away, then, and taking his hands into his own, staring at him in those beautiful aquamarine eyes.

“But now we have a birthday to celebrate, don’t we? And we have to text Molly and tell her not to come here! I got it, let me take care of it!”

Definitely a new light was shining in the doctor’s eyes, for the first time after… after Mary’s death. It was a bliss in Sherlock’s heart. Sherlock couldn’t believe this was happening for real. He took a deep breath. He clasped tighter the other’s hands. He smiled.

“We’ll manage it. Together. Just like old times.”

“Just like old times.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it... kudos and comments are welcome of course :) Thank you for reading!  
> You can find me on Tumblr too as [dangerous-paths](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/dangerous-paths), you will be welcome!


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